Page 5 of Deep Cover

“They never got him,” Doyle reminded her as if she needed it.

She nodded. “The waitress was implicated.”

“Yes. She’s in protective custody.”

Caryssa cocked a brow at her boss. “And there’s some connection between this dead supply driver and the waitress or the restaurant?”

“That’s what you’re going to find out, Lane. You don’t have clearance for the base itself. Once they pick you up, you’ll wear a hood until you reach your destination.”

She didn’t blink. “Okay. I’m up for anything. You know that, Doyle.”

She meant it. That was the thing about having nothing left to lose—it made every request, including wearing a hood over her head, completely reasonable, because there was nothing on the other side of the scale to weigh it against.

“No questions? No arguments?”

“None.” She was already pushing away from the desk.

“Lane—” He raked his fingers through his hair at the front, leaving it standing in a thin tuft that oddly reminded her of a baby.

“I said no arguments.” She cut off his inevitable “are you sure?” They both knew her calendar held nothing more pressing than laundry.

Doyle gave her a single nod. “Travel details will be emailed to you.”

“Got it. Thanks.” She reached for her bag and started adding things to it before Doyle cleared the door, going through the motions she’d run a hundred times. Laptop, secure drive, the go bag she kept next to the filing cabinet for these moments.

She checked it as well—clothes, toothbrush, the body armor that fit to perfection and would save her life, not that she expected to need it at a place with security so high that they required their guests wear hoods.

She paused, hand on the zipper. What was she getting into this time?

Not having anyone to answer to made it easier to run out at a moment’s notice. Easier to put herself in harm’s way too.

She’d been a long way from her hometown of Philly for years, and some mornings the distance was the only thing keeping her upright. She hadn’t been back for a holiday in longer than she could remember. These days, her family only expected to see her at funerals.

She’d gotten exactly what she’d wanted when she joined the Bureau. She’d become an intelligence analyst, built a career she was damn good at, and somewhere along the way, let everything else die on the vine.

No husband. No boyfriend. Not even a cat, because she never knew when she’d have to catch the next flight.

Tonight, this weekend, next month—it made no difference.

There was nobody waiting for her.

One bag slung over her shoulder and her carry-on luggage in hand, she crossed the office to the door. Not even the new assignment could bury what hearing Antonio’s had dragged back up.

Phillip lost his life behind the restaurant.

She’d only gone out for drinks with him a handful of times. His death had shocked her, but the grief clawing its way back up wasn’t for him.

It belonged to the man she’d loved—and lost—years before.

That man was the reason she hadn’t been home in years, because every direction she looked, she saw him. She didn’t trust herself to walk those streets and stay standing.

So she’d made the job her whole life, telling herself it was ambition. Some of it was.

But underneath the commendations and her reputation for being the analyst who never missed a pattern, there was a simpler truth she rarely let herself face straight on.

She stayed with the FBI because it meant she had access. And maybe someday, in a file she hadn’t read yet, she might finally learn what happened to Reid.

As she walked out of the office into a cloudy gray day, she checked her email for the travel plans Doyle promised. A minute later, a car pulled up and she climbed into the back, setting her bags on the seat beside her.